That's Gonna Be Me
by Parnassus
Summary: Missing Scene, 4.06 Yellow Fever: Dean has a panic attack. Sam accidentally gets him drunk. Set just before the "you're awesome" scene at the police station.


**SUMMARY:**** Missing scene from 4.06, Yellow Fever. Dean has a panic attack. Sam accidentally gets him drunk. **

**DISCLAIMER: Flowery language and such from boys who don't belong to me. **

**A/N:**** So I was rewatching Yellow Fever and came across a short scene I'd totally forgotten about. It's pure, solid gold. An inspiration, really. Allow me to summarize: **

**Sam and Dean leave the police station and are on their way to visit Luther's brother in "Peaceful Pines" when they run into a little old lady and Dean _freaks_ out - then continues freaking out because they could get busted for not being real FBI agents. They pause in the hallway and Sam conducts a breathing exercise, trying to get Dean to calm down. It doesn't work. Right before the scene cuts Dean tries to grab onto the sleeve of Sam's jacket and Sam shoots him this look like, "Dude, what the fuck?" THERE WAS SO MUCH HILARIOUS BROTHER TOUCHING AND I WAS JUST LIKE AKLSDFKLDJFKSDJFSJF...I NEED MORE!**

**Soooo I came up with some fluffy crap to explain how Dean got drunk before the, "You're awesome", scene and things just kind of escalated from there...**

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"Dean!"

Sam slapped his palm against the bathroom door as he bellowed his brother's name. The harsh impact caused the blood to rush underneath his skin and his fingers tingled. He jiggled the door handle with his other hand for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"Goddammit, I swear I'm gonna break down this door!"

"You wouldn't," Dean's muffled voice sounded petrified. "I'll kick your ass."

"And I'm _this close_-" Sam released the handle and his fist jerked up, demonstrating the miniscule measurement with his thumb and forefinger…even though Dean couldn't see. "-to shoving my boot up yours."

The ghost sickness was mercilessly plowing through his older brother and making remarkably good time. Dean had locked himself in the motel bathroom almost twenty minutes ago after a confused bird had crashed headlong into the window of their room and plummeted to its untimely death.

As luck would have it, Dean had been seated on the puke green couch just below the window with the laptop. Fingers tapping away, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he researched the hell out of their current predicament. There was a sickening _thud_ and the consequential _splat_ as the ill-fated bird smashed into the glass pane. Its boneless body slid down to the cement, the trail of crimson and sticky feathers leaving a rather awful mess.

Dean had startled horribly, crying out in shock as he jerked in his seat to gape at the tainted window. Sam had watched as his brother's complexion morphed from green to grey. Dean had turned his head, ever so slowly, searching for Sam with wide, panicked eyes. Sam was rising from his perch on the armchair with his hands raised in a consolatory gesture just as Dean tossed the laptop aside, bolted for the bathroom and locked the door.

At first Sam had been worried.

"_Dean? Dean, lemme in," Sam pleaded. _

"_Can't," Dean grunted helplessly, his rough voice echoing off the tile. Sam rapped on the door, knowing it would be useless. _

"_Dean? Don't do this. Open up."_

"_No…oh…oh man," Dean's voice was thick. "No, I think…I think I'm gonna throw up."_

"_Dude," Sam caught himself grimacing. He patted the door, gently this time. "Don't throw up."_

"_That's…that's gonna be me, Sam," Dean's muffled voice was small and shaky. "That's gonna be me. I'm gonna die. I'm fucked."_

"_It's not," Sam protested firmly. "You just need to calm down, okay? Nobody's dying today."_

_A tedious stretch of silence during which Sam imagined Dean, hunched over, waiting to see whether or not he'd make good on his prediction. _

_A few more minutes passed and nothing happened. Sam knocked again. He was frightened for his brother. Dean's erratic behavior over the past twenty-four hours coupled with his increasing paranoia had convinced Sam that it wasn't safe to allow his sibling any alone time. And Dean barricaded in a bathroom full of razors and mirrors, hell, shower curtains, wasn't ideal to say the least. _

"_Dean? Please, just let me in." _

_Another labored beat of silence. _

"_It's…it's bad, Sammy."_

_That stutter wasn't promising. _

"_Nah," Sam scoffed, feigning lightheartedness. "It's not so bad. We'll figure this thing out. But you gotta open the door, man."_

"_It's bad," Dean repeated insistently. "Bad things out there. Bad things outside. I'm not going outside. No way."_

"_I'm not gonna let anything hurt you." _

"_Can't know that for sure," Dean sounded so hopelessly terrified. "Not for sure." _

"_Yes," Sam insisted. "I can."_

"_No," Dean then proceeded to mock Sam's tone of voice. "You can't. So just…just go away."_

And back and forth they'd gone. Dean growing more petulant and nonsensical by the minute, Sam becoming increasingly agitated and impatient, bewildered by the whole stupid situation they were in. Dean was falling apart at the seams and Sam had reached his boiling point.

"Sam, just leave me the fuck alone," Dean muttered weakly through the door.

"I'm trying to help you. Don't be a stubborn asshole. Open the damn door!"

"No way."

Sam drew a steadying breath, trying to soothe his rapidly disintegrating temper. "Dean, the sooner you open the door and cooperate the sooner we can figure out our next step and find a cure…or…whatever. Gank whatever's causing this."

He waited. Heard Dean's ragged breathing as he fought an internal battle with himself.

"Get it off first," he heard Dean whisper. His older brother sounded unbelievably embarrassed.

"Wha-" Sam was about to ask, then glanced over at the blood and guts plastered all over the window. He sighed impatiently and ran a hand through his hair.

Sam hurried to the bedroom and pulled a pillowcase off one of the beds. He tucked the corners into the top of the windowsill, effectively concealing the gruesome stain.

"Okay," Sam called, glancing around the room to make sure there weren't any other oddities that might trigger his brother. "Coast is clear."

The door cracked open inch by inch. Dean's frantic, red-rimmed eyes darted back and forth, glaring suspiciously at the window before settling on Sam. He was swallowing convulsively, his face flushed and sweaty.

"See?" Sam coaxed. "There's nothing out here."

Dean gulped again, then looked up at Sam with such a pitiful, pleading look it made Sam's chest clench. He couldn't remember ever seeing Dean so strung out.

"You sure?"

"Positive. Here, c'mon," he wrapped his hand around Dean's arm and led him outside.

To Sam's utter astonishment, Dean not only allowed himself to be led, but immediately grabbed on to the back of Sam's shirt, clutching like it was a lifeline. Sam spun around, his face screwed up in disbelief.

Dean flinched at Sam's sudden movement - bracing for danger - then glanced down in confusion even as he continued fisting at his little brother's shirt. His cheeks reddened and he released the material, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Sorry," he breathed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Let's just…sit for a minute, huh?" Sam cautiously began leading his brother over to the couch.

Dean immediately recoiled, struggling to free his arm from Sam's grasp and pawing with all his might. His eyes were wide and terrified as he gaped at the window. Dean's feet actually skidded on the carpet as he planted his legs, refusing to go any further. He caught another handful of Sam's shirt. Sam momentarily lost his balance as he was yanked backwards and staggered into Dean.

"No, no…Sammy, no," Dean gasped, features pale and pained as he continued tugging on Sam's shirt.

Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, Sam shushed him and nudged Dean over to the table on the other side of the room instead. Dean collapsed into the chair, finally releasing his brother and cradled his head in his hands.

"I need a drink," Dean groaned in defeat.

For once, Sam wholeheartedly agreed.

"Hang on," he patted his brother's shoulder and retreated to the small kitchenette.

No sooner had he rummaged and located a bottle than a stifled cry rang out from the next room. Sam hurried back, not entirely sure what to expect. An initial sweep of the room indicated that it was empty. Sam stalked towards the bedroom, frantically searching. Then he heard a muffled whimper from somewhere in the corner. No…from somewhere _under_ the table.

Sam knelt down, peering between the table's legs.

"Dean? What the hell?"

Sam placed the bottle on the table and crouched down to get a better look. Dean was curled in an impossibly tight ball, head bowed on his drawn knees and arms hugging his chest. He glanced up at Sam with watery eyes and held up a quaking finger, pointing at the mute TV displaying a fuzzy black and white picture.

_Seriously? What was the freaking chance…._

Hitchcock's, "The Birds", was playing. Tippi screamed in terror as a flock of the malevolent creatures viciously attacked her perfectly coifed bob before she ducked into a convenient phone booth.

Sam looked back helplessly at the trembling wreck currently masquerading as his brother. He stumbled over to the TV and switched the stupid thing off.

He could hear Dean breathing heavily, keening on every labored exhale. Sam got down on all fours and held out a hand. Dean shook his head fiercely before pressing even harder against the wall like a spooked animal.

"Dean, it's off." Sam shoved a chair aside, trying to reach his brother. Dean seemed to be struggling for every breath, gasping raggedly as sweat trickled down his face. Then it struck Sam like a kick to the jewels.

Dean was having a fucking panic attack.

"Dean," his voice was firm and commanding. Dean flinched and his glassy eyes flicked up to Sam. "Dude, you've got to calm down. You're gonna pass out." Dean whimpered and knocked his head against the wall.

"Hey! You hear me?"

Dean's glazed eyes widened in terror as he suddenly seemed to realize how difficult it had become to draw a breath. He lurched forward onto his stomach and crawled out from underneath the table. Once out in the open, he sat back, rocking on his heels before leaning down to rest his forehead on the carpet.

"Oh, Jesus," Dean cried hysterically. He reached for Sam's knee and levered himself back up into a sitting position. Sam caught his forearms and Dean in turn clasped onto Sam's. "I c-can't…breathe."

"Easy, easy, slow it down," Sam spoke in a calm monotone, trying to catch Dean's eyes as they continued to bounce around the room like a couple of ping pong balls.

"Oh fuck," Dean practically sobbed, clinging even tighter to his brother. "I can't fucking breathe. Sammy…I can't…" He was cut off by a harsh bout of coughing. And then he was choking.

Dean's head dropped between his shoulders and he gagged violently. Sam cringed as his brother heaved and gasped for oxygen, involuntary tears slipping down his face as he pulled desperately at Sam's shirt, twisting the fabric so hard it dug into Sam's skin.

Sam hated himself for what he was about to do but he was at a complete loss. He yanked Dean upright and drew back a hand, slapping his brother _hard_ across the face. For a moment, there was dead silence. Dean's stuttering breaths abruptly halted and he stared in stunned confusion as a red handprint bloomed across his cheek.

Sam seized the small window.

"Okay, listen to me. Deep breaths," he coached. "Do it with me. One," Sam drew a long breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled. Trembling, Dean followed suit. "Two. Three..." Sam continued. Dean released a shaky breath before gulping down another.

"Good," Sam praised soothingly, bracing a hand against Dean's chest. "Better?"

Dean shook his head, looking like maybe he was going to cry.

"Did…did you seriously just slap me?"

Indignation momentarily seemed to distract him from his terror.

"Yeah, bro. Slapped the shit out of you. Try to focus for me."

The fleeting expression of hurt morphed into _majorly pissed off_. Sam rubbed his brother's chest in silent apology. He reached over Dean's head for the bottle he'd retrieved from the kitchen.

Screwing off the cap, he handed it over to Dean who immediately brought it to his lips, taking several deep, messy gulps. He sputtered on the last swallow, spewing some of the liquid on Sam's shirt.

"Sorry," he grunted.

Sam just shook his head and distractedly brushed at his shirt.

"Dean, you can't keep freaking out. You're just speeding up the process and it's only gonna get worse."

Dean took another long drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before reaching up to swipe at his watering eyes. "Aren't you a fucking ray of sunshine?" He fixed Sam with a bitter snarl. "You think I'm enjoying this shitty acid trip? I can't help it, all right? It's not like I _want_ to flip my shit."

"I know that," Sam reigned in his temper before it could get the better of him. "Look, you just have to keep all this crap under control for a little longer. We're going to find the source."

"Well, can you hurry it up? 'Cause I'm about to be three fries short of a Happy Meal."

Sam ignored the grouchy jab. "You all right to go down to the station?"

Sam saw the panic flare in his brother's eyes at the mention of leaving the room. But they quickly dulled as he took another drink.

"Yeah…m'fine here. Hey," Dean poked a finger at Sam's chest. "Be a pal and bring me back some McDonalds."

"Nice try. You're going."

Sam was thoroughly annoyed with himself when he realized Dean had nearly drained the bottle in the short amount of time they'd been sitting on the floor. He had only been trying to soothe Dean's overwrought nerves…not get him drunk.

Sam quickly pulled the bottle out of reach as Dean yelled, "What the fuck, Sam?"

"I'm not leaving you here by yourself. You're gonna have to pull it together while we're down at the station, all right? So snap out of it."

Sam rose from his crouch and hoisted his brother to his feet. Dean swayed a little and grabbed onto Sam's shoulder to steady himself.

"You good?" Sam patted his brother's chest.

"M'awesome," Dean shot Sam a loopy grin. Then began scratching viciously at his wrist.

"Quit that," Sam slapped Dean's hand.

"You suck," Dean pouted dejectedly.

"Get over it." Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed their jackets, pushing his brother towards the door.

"Qui-quit shovin' me," Dean slurred.

"Well, then start walkin'," Sam countered.

"Bossy, bitch…"

Sam huffed an irritated sigh and gave his brother a slightly more determined shove out the door.

"Know what?" Dean sniggered drunkenly as Sam opened the car door for him. "You hit like a girl, Sammy."

"Yeah? Better than screaming like one."

Dean growled and threw an uncoordinated fist at Sam's face. Sam dodged the punch easily and hustled Dean into the passenger's seat.

They were in for a long afternoon…

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**END**

**- Y'all are totally going to hunt down that scene now, aren't you? It's well worth it ;) Anyhoo...hope you enjoyed my shenanigans! Cheers! **


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